The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My life would be a whole lot simpler if not for a rolling nickel.

Hi there from the blogosphere, my name is Carter Gladstone and I am a lawyer at the prestigious firm of Mathers, Caruthers, Franken and Flittstein.

I recently got a promotion and a cool corner office in our downtown office building. The firm takes up seven of its 25 floors and I was on the second highest of its floors now, pretty sweet compared to my old cubicle.

I was fishing for some change to get a soda when a nickel bobbled out of my hand. It of course rolls all the way to the very farthest corner of the room, right next to the window.

As I looked up after retrieving it, I noticed I could see into the room catty-cornered to my office – the company gym. It was a well-known fact the gym had been designed so no one would be able to look in, so the bodies of the phalanx of mostly hot-bodied young female lawyers who mostly used it in skimpy workout clothes could do so in peace.

As a 29-year-old heterosexual male, I knew I could be the next chairman of the board tomorrow, and there was now no way in hell I would give up this office now, all thanks to my nickel.

One of those luscious, hot-bodied young lawyers I knew working out tonight was my girlfriend, Erika. She had beautiful shoulder-length chestnut hair, a body the word voluptuous was made for and legs that looked so sexy in her shear panty hose.

Oh, and she had the biggest, most perky and perfect natural breasts I have even seen on a woman. I mean, they are definite Double-D’s but there is no sag but lots of bouncing up and down when she walked; even in the conservative business suits she tried to cover her massive hooters with at work.

I sometimes wonder if I am in love with her or with her breasts, and the body and mind just come along for the ride. Luckily, I don’t have to choose.

My girlfriend is great; bright and sassy and earnest and of course there are those super breasts to stare at so I am never bored. She has just one drawback:

Erika was not just a tad prejudiced; she was a total all-out bigot.

If you were not a white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant, you were basically not worthy of being in the same space as her.

I’m from a family of rural Kentucky farmers but my mom was at least a pretentious farmer’s wife with hope for her kids so she named me Carter. Since I had gotten an academic scholarship to Harvard Law School, that degree and my faux country-clubbish name signaled to Erika I was OK to see socially.

She really is a decent-sort, and there are those breasts. Her old-money father filled her head with all this ‘we’re better than everyone princess’ garbage and she always talks about she wants to please him. I figure once she gets older and has more experience she’ll shake herself out of it.

It didn’t really affect our relationship too much. Gone were my pro basketball tickets (“Who wants to see THEM jump around,” she decreed.) and I had to become an ice hockey fan but I could live with that.

The biggest problem would come was if we were out to eat and there would be an interracial couple dining nearby. Oh, boy.

I knew dinner would be ruined, as she would just glare at the couple and grind her teeth the whole time. Once, when a couple was kissing a bit too much for her taste, she actually went up to the table and said, “Got your trophy, huh, big fella.”

In her list of prejudices, the only thing she hated worse than blacks was homosexuals.

I remember how she flipped when I told her I had scored front-row seats to ‘Rent’. And she told me in no certain terms a vacation to San Francisco (‘Homotown’) I was never to plan.

Did this hurt her career at our firm? I might be an up-and-comer at old M.C.F. & F but Erika, even though she is just a couple of years out of law school, had come.

Her position? Well, behind her back, the partners refer to her as ‘Our bigoted money tree’.

It started when she was given what the firm’s top discrimination experts said was an unwinnable case. A manufacturing firm for the past 40 years in Atlanta had not hired anybody but white people except for janitorial positions. Blacks with master’s degrees had been turned down for jobs as lowly clerks.

The law firm had told them to settle and start hiring minorities but the old codger of an owner, who wore a Confederate flag pin on his lapel, would not do it.

So Erika was tossed the hopeless case. Of course, Erika thought the company was completely in the right, “Why should they have to hire those kind after all?” she told me, “it’s a free country.”

She worked on the case with such passion and gave such a powerful performance about how her side was right, and yeah, showed some cleavage, the jury ruled in her favor.

Soon, MCFF was flooded with firms facing discrimination lawsuits, sex, race, anti-gay, age, even she-males, and billing millions as Erika kept up her winning streak, confounding public-interest lawyers from coast-to-coast as she won over every juror and judge to her side with her complete certitude that her side was right.

She was now on the top of our seven floors and, deep down; I think she might have had something to do with my latest promotion.

“This is why I got into the law,” she said to me one time as we lay in bed, her head resting on my shoulder, my hand rubbing her right breast. “To help people.”

OK, back to the nickel and my wonderful view.

I was extra excited about this development as recently Erika had been invited to be part of a special Tuesday night exercise class run by Diane Promos, the only female senior partner.

As Erika described it to me, only 20 females at the firm were invited at one time to be part of the class. Promos had a fitness expert from Russia named Anya conduct the class with her. Since Erika had such a curvy figure, as well as two huge jugs, keeping in shape was always a priority for her.

The class was from 7-9 p.m. and as I put my nickel in my pocket, I looked at my watch and saw it was 8:15 p.m.

I propped up my body against the far wall and craned my neck to the right to see what was happening—not that I believed what I was now seeing:

First, I noticed all the girls in my view seemed to have nice-sized breasts, and were totally naked. They seemed to be paired up, each standing next to two long chains coming out of the ceiling.

I looked frantically for Erika and was bit relieved I could not find her. I breathed a sigh of relief; I knew she would not be part of whatever this was. Heck, it took me three months and a bottle of Chianti before she had taken her top off for me.

But my heart sank as I then saw right in front of the window, the most obvious sightline for me, was my girlfriend.

She was, of course, nude and her firm, unfettered breasts were bobbing up and down as she stood there fondling a woman with short blonde hair and a pierced nose.

I recognized her as Colleen, a young paralegal. I knew her only because Erika had tried to get her fired when Colleen, stupidly, had tried to be polite and introduced her girlfriend to Erika at the company picnic.

They were laconically rubbing their hands over each other’s body and giving each other little kisses. A chill went through me when Colleen began pawing at Erika’s breasts. That was MY job.

Suddenly, the two straightened up for a second, with their hands dropping instantly to their sides. But it was only for an instant, as they then began going to work with the chains, but for what I couldn’t tell.

Erika handed a chain to Colleen and lay on the floor on her stomach. Colleen then took both chains and bent down (nice ass, I noted) and began working on Erika’s left wrist and then moved to the other one.

Colleen began pulling on a third chain I suddenly noticed and slowly the two other chains began to tense up.

Erika’s arms began to rise as Colleen’s arms and shoulders flexed as he pulled at the chain. Erika’s upper body was now lifting off the ground and with some more yanks by Colleen; Erika’s body was now off the floor except for her ankles and feet. Her boobs were now facing me and I could see Erika’s face clearly for the first time. The only way to describe it was: a glazed bliss.

I just watched in stunned amazement.

Colleen tied off the chain at a nearby wall and when she came back, bent down to a small machine that had a glass bottle with two clear tubes sticking out of it.

Colleen robotically took one tube and then inserted the end of it into the nipple of Erika’s right breast and then moved over to Erika’s other side and inserted the end of the other tube in her left breast.

Colleen went back to the machine and calmly flicked a switch. She scooted very quickly onto the floor and moved herself right under Erika’s half-suspended body.

Her face was right under Erika’s cleanly shaven snatch (“dyke’s like it bushy,” she had once announced to me) and I could see her pink tongue flicking in and out.

I saw Erika was now out of her fog. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open and moving quickly. To my depression, I recognized those mouth movements, without the benefits of sound; I knew exactly what she was shouting

She might be a bigot, but Erika was a horny bigot.

“Oh, yeah, oh baby, of fuck yeah, do me like the whore I am, oh, oh, oh, shit yeah. Fuck this little jiggaboo’s slut’s cunt. Lick this cunt like a dyke whore. Lick, oh, oh, oh!!!”

I then noticed after a minute of Colleen’s lapping that a white liquid was coming out of the tubes in Erika’s breasts and into the glass bottle. It started as a trickle but soon turned into a steady white stream.

‘Oh my god, she’s being milked!!’ I screamed in my head.

I saw Erika had to be shrieking at this point as her mouth was now huge and her body was shaking, not that Colleen was dissuaded as her mouth remained fastened to Erika’s minge.

I looked on for the next 10 minutes as this scene went on, Colleen licking with glee Erika’s ever-wettening slit; Erika shouting and bucking as the milk flowed from her breasts down the tubes and into the bottle.

I looked around briefly and saw the scene 11 times over, girls being milked, bodies swaying while getting eaten out but I quickly returned to watch my girlfriend’s show.

Suddenly, Colleen’s head went down and her body stiffened. Erika stopped writhing and shouting, her face back to its blissful glaze of before.

Colleen quickly crawled from out beneath Erika’s body and went right up to her breasts. She jiggled them for a bit as it looked like she was trying to coax the last drops of milk out of Erika’s breasts.

When there was no more milk coming out, she took out the tubes and then went back and got the control chain and slowly lowered Erika’s body back down to the floor.

She bent down and took off her shackles and helped Erika up, her breasts heaving up and down as she brushed herself off and smiled.

The pair began feeling each other up and soon were kissing again, with a little more intensity and tongue, than the first time.

The pair then went rigid for a moment, their faces blank slates before reanimating.

They then exchanged roles. My girlfriend, who hated lesbians so much she had to be escorted off the grounds of the U.S. Open for heckling Martina Navratilova, was on her back sucking and licking the pussy of another woman, after setting her up to be milked.

When they were done this set, the two just stood up straight and slowly walked along with the rest of the women to the far side of the gym where they disappeared, I assumed to the locker room.

Two nude women, one a slim woman with a fashionably shoulder-length blonde hair cut and the other a tall Amazonian looking blonde about 25, stayed back and looked on at the line of women leaving the gym. I knew from the company newsletter the older woman was Diane Promos and the ripped blonde wonder had to be Anya.

They both had big smiles (Wonder why!!) and began looking around and picking up things. I quickly dashed away from my obscure spot so I didn’t get caught peeping.

I checked my watch and saw it was exactly 9 p.m.

You had to hand that to them, they were on time.

I stayed up most of the night, half-worried about what had happened to my girlfriend and the other half jerking off to the memory. I discovered I had a lactation fetish as remembering Erika’s luscious hooters being treated like udders just turned me on.

I wasn’t sure what to do, maybe it was some weird sex game or something, but I decided to go through the motions of normal life until noon, when Erika was suppose to join me for our regular Wednesday lunch.

Erika bounced to the table looking as bright as a shiny penny and gave me a big kiss before sitting down.

“High five babe,” she said as we did so. “The American Civil Liberties Union goes down big time. My client can put out as much propaganda about the inferiority of the non-white races as he wants.”

“You are indeed the savior of free speech,” I said, hoping she didn’t see my sarcasm.

“Yeah, I know, someone has to defend the defenseless,” she said with a grin.

“Especially when the defenseless gave the firm a half-mill to be defended,” I said, as she laughed and we clinked glasses to her triumph.

As we talked, Erika seemed to be the same misguided, wonderful, sweet bigot I loved. And her breasts seem none the worse for wear either, as they bounced happily when she got up and then down when she went to the bathroom.

I finally lightly tapped around the subject.

“Hey, how was your special ‘invitation-only’ workout session last night,” I said.

“Oh it’s great,” she said quickly as she dug into her salad. “Diane is awesome and that Anya knows her stuff.”

“Well, what exactly do you do for two hours?”

I waited for her reaction to be defensive, but it wasn’t.

“Good stuff, for the first hour we do cardio and weight lifting and get worked like dogs really. But then second hour is really cool (“I bet!”). We work on feeling good about our body image and sharpening up our mental skills as well as working on our flexibility. Sound mind and body is what gets people ahead, Diane says.”

Sounded innocent enough, maybe I just overreacted. Who knows what weird Commie stuff fitness instructors do in Russia? She might have the sensibilities of Archie Bunker but Erika was a sharp cookie and I trusted whatever they were doing, she must approve of it.

And boy was that breast-milking scene going to give me hours of pleasure I for the next few nights!

My crisis was over, I decided, as she prattled on about how Oprah had too much influence.

Just then, on the television on the wall closest to us, I saw Martina Navratilova and Rosie O’Donnell, together. They were on some show discussing the benefits of gay marriage

I tensed for the eruption of Erika the Racist Volcano as this double-whammy of lesbians on display demanding equal rights would no doubt lead to about a half-hour diatribe, not to mention a lot of ‘Who the fuck do those cunts think they are!” out of nowhere from her for the next few days.

Erika looked up at the screen, went back to her salad and took a sip of her drink.

“Nothing? Two of your least favorite people on the planet discussing gay marriage”

“Ah, screw them, whatever,” she said simply and took another bite.

“That’s it? this will be a much quieter lunch than I expected.”

“There bigger things in the world to worry about,” she said dismissively. “If some dykes and homos want to married, no skin off my teeth, let them.

“Hey waitress! Can I please have another glass of milk.”